


Moment's Silence

by Dont_touch_the_phlebotinum



Series: Sugar and Spice Witcher Bingo [8]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Sugar and Spice Witcher Bingo, Top Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:54:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29657859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dont_touch_the_phlebotinum/pseuds/Dont_touch_the_phlebotinum
Summary: Sugar and Spice Witcher Bingo prompt 8: Rimming.Jaskier is as good with his tongue as he is with everything else.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Sugar and Spice Witcher Bingo [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2079273
Comments: 16
Kudos: 161
Collections: Sugar and Spice Witcher Bingo





	Moment's Silence

As far as respite goes, a modest bathhouse in the depths of a bustling, noisy castle isn't much, but Geralt will take it. He closes the door behind him with a deep sigh of relief. Above, the riot of last-minute activity continues; the mingling scents of fresh flowers and roasting meats, and the cacophony of barked commands and dozens of different conversations, continues to aggravate his senses. But it's muted somewhat, a niggling at the back of his mind rather than the onslaught that it was while Geralt was in the midst of it all. It's something, at least.

Geralt steps forward, shedding his filthy clothes as he approaches the bath. He had hoped to have chance to clean himself up before he and Jaskier arrived at Lettenhove. What he hadn't anticipated was being flagged down on the road, and begged for help ridding the neighbouring village of the chort that had decimated their livestock and now turned its attention to the villagers themselves. But he hadn't had it in him to refuse.

The fight had been as quick as it was bloody. And, of course, the moment he and Jaskier passed through the castle gates into the courtyard, Jaskier's parents had emerged to enthusiastically greet them.

It was about as disastrous a first impression as Geralt had feared it would be. This was exactly the reason he had declined Jaskier's invitation to this cursed banquet every year before now.

Geralt shakes his head as he sinks into the water. The bath is a generous size; sunk deep into the floor of the room, a seat cut into the marble on each side, with more than enough space for Geralt to stretch his legs. He rests his arms on the rim of the bath, and breathes deep of the fragrant steam that curls up towards the ceiling as he closes his eyes.

It's hard not to feel like he's tainting the bath by sinking into it. Everything here, from the castle to Jaskier's parents to the household staff, is as finely put together as Jaskier is himself. It's an uncomfortable reminder of just how out of place Geralt, with his simple clothes inelegantly stitched back together and covered in blood and grime, is in Jaskier's life. He inspects his nails, caked with dirt as always, and scrubs at them viciously.

It doesn't do much to rid him of the suspicion that no amount of scouring will bring him up to the Pankratz standard, though.

There's the sound of footsteps descending the stairs towards the baths, and Geralt tenses, shrinking beneath the water to try and hide his scars lest he prove an even more offensive sight than he has already. But when the door glides open, it's Jaskier who pokes his head into the room.

"I thought you'd be down here," he says, his voice bright. There's been even more of a spring in his step than usual since the moment they set off for Lettenhove. It's nice, Geralt has to admit. He knows how much Jaskier looks forward to this every year.

Geralt grunts in response as he returns to scrubbing at his skin.

"You'll not have any left if you carry on at that rate," says Jaskier. He closes the door behind him, stripping off his own clothes as he crosses the room towards Geralt. They fall to the floor beside Geralt's own, vibrant blue on dour black.

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" He sits behind Geralt and sinks his legs into the water on either side of him, feet resting on the seat. Without warning, he empties a jug of water over Geralt's head.

"You know," he goes on, as his fingers slide into Geralt's hair to try and work out the blood matted into it, "if you can face monsters and sorcerers and all other sorts of accumulated nasties, you can survive an evening with my family."

Geralt lets out another grunt, that's only partly due to Jaskier's fingers massaging expertly against his scalp. He isn't just an interloper in this world — he's the one tempting Jaskier away from it, into one of violence and hardship and danger. It's incredible that Jaskier's parents would let Geralt through the castle gates at all.

"Do they know about us?" he says.

"No." Jaskier's hands still. "Does that bother you?"

Geralt shrugs. "It's your family. Tell them what you wish."

"I'm sure I'll tell them at some point," says Jaskier. "I just thought it best that they at least meet you first, so they can fall in love with you, too."

Geralt would have scoffed at that suggestion, if Jaskier wasn't at that moment turning his attention to Geralt's shoulders, forcing out the knots that Geralt had never known he possessed until Jaskier started manhandling him this way so long ago. He has a knack for it, though, Geralt has to admit.

_'I'm good with my hands,'_ Jaskier had said, with a lascivious grin, the first time he had set to massaging away Geralt's various aches and pains. Over the years, Geralt has come to discover just how true that statement is.

He hums, despite himself, as he feels his muscles begin to loosen beneath Jaskier's firm fingers. "Is that why you asked me to come with you tonight?" he says.

"Not the only reason. I do actually think you might enjoy yourself, if you learn to relax for five minutes. This banquet is the highlight of Lettenhove's entire year. Stand up."

Geralt does as he's told. The water skims the tops of his thighs as he moves forward for Jaskier to sink into the bath behind him, and Jaskier sets to washing Geralt's back. "That might say more about the town than anything else," says Geralt, and he grins as Jaskier jabs a harsh finger between his ribs in response.

Jaskier quickly forgives him, though. He always does. He guides Geralt to lean back against him, his body warm against Geralt's back as Jaskier moves his hands round to Geralt's chest.

"Are you going to let me dress you for tonight?"

"Do I have a choice?"

Jaskier grins and kisses his cheek. That's a no, then.

Once Geralt has been deemed suitably clean Jaskier takes a step back, surveying the collection of glass vials placed within easy reach of the bath, picking one up now and then for an investigative sniff. After what feels like an excruciatingly long deliberation he selects one and returns to Geralt, pouring a little of the fragrant oil into his palm to begin working it into Geralt's skin. Geralt knows better than to protest. Better this than the lingering aroma of dead chort.

It's a delicate scent, light enough not to overpower Geralt's senses, and Geralt closes his eyes as Jaskier's hands smooth warm, slow circles over his chest and down his stomach. But they don't stop there.

Geralt's breath catches when Jaskier's hand brushes over his cock. It's a whisper of a touch, one Geralt could almost dismiss as innocent if he didn't know Jaskier so well by this point. And if Jaskier's palm didn't glide over the length of Geralt's cock again a moment later. Geralt feels himself begin to swell under the attention.

"Jaskier," he grits out, trying his best not to push his hips forward as Jaskier's hand finally closes around him — though still it's no more than a teasing touch, designed to light the first embers of desire low in Geralt's belly. And it's certainly working. Pressed against his arse, he can feel Jaskier's own cock twitch with growing interest in return. He reaches back to grasp at Jaskier's narrow hips.

"What?" says Jaskier, faux innocent. "I'm helping you relax. And I happen to know for a fact that you find this _incredibly_ relaxing."

"We're your parents' guests."

That isn't the argument to convince Jaskier, however. He kisses Geralt again, his free hand pressed to Geralt's stomach to keep their bodies flush. "Do you know how many people I've fucked beneath this roof?"

"I dread to think."

Jaskier chuckles, and his hand sinks lower, cupping Geralt's balls and squeezing lightly. "Do you want me to stop?" he says. There's an edge of seriousness to his voice. His hands on Geralt loosen, ready to let go if commanded.

His nose is pressed behind Geralt's ear, right where he loves to kiss Geralt when he's draped over Geralt's back fucking into him. Right where Geralt loves to be kissed. But Jaskier doesn't press his lips to the sensitive skin, just rests there, waiting for Geralt's answer.

_Fuck_.

"No," breathes Geralt. He lets out a soft moan when Jaskier's hand closes around his cock again and strokes from root to tip. Geralt's hips are moving, soft rolls in time with Jaskier's hand on him, and he nudges his cheek against Jaskier's as his focus centres on the pressure around his cock, the heat building beneath his skin everywhere Jaskier is touching him. He closes his eyes, ready to lose himself in Jaskier's arms.

Geralt gasps as he feels the first brush of a callused fingertip against his hole.

"Jaskier—"

"Hush," says Jaskier, his lips close enough to graze Geralt's skin. The hand on Geralt's cock has moved to his stomach, soothing up and down his skin until Geralt relaxes against him once more. His finger circles Geralt's entrance, not pressing to sink inside, just keeping Geralt aware of its presence.

As if he can fucking think of anything else. He eyes the door, still mercifully closed — for the moment.

He was wrong, Geralt thinks. The worst impression he could make is if someone walks in on him with the golden child of the Pankratz family's fingers up his arse.

But now that Jaskier's fingers are there, massaging slow and tempting against his hole, he can't help but moan at the touch. Gods help him, he needs Jaskier to press them inside.

And Jaskier, well, Jaskier knows when Geralt has surrendered to him — he should do, the amount of times it seems to happen, despite Geralt's better judgement. He grins and presses another kiss to Geralt's cheek, fingers moving with more confidence as his other hand returns to Geralt's cock to offer at least some of the relief Geralt craves. Jaskier doesn't push inside him, however, apparently satisfied with the teasing pressure against Geralt's hole.

Geralt's not sure he's satisfied by it.

He clutches at Jaskier's forearms, still rocking his hips to try and seek out the sensation against his entrance and on his cock all at once, the water sloshing gently around their thighs as they move. "Get on with it, bard," he grits out.

Jaskier hums as he considers. "You know," he says, "I think I have a better idea."

And with that he's releasing Geralt, a kiss to Geralt's shoulder as his hands slide to Geralt's hips to manoeuvre him into position. Geralt goes willingly, letting Jaskier bend him forward over the edge of the bath, his hands pressed to the floor to steady himself as he feels Jaskier kneel on the seat behind him.

His hands splay out over Geralt's arse and spread him open.

"There you are," says Jaskier. Geralt would roll his eyes at that, but before he can react, Jaskier is dipping his head and there's the warm, wet press of a tongue against Geralt's hole.

"Jaskier," he gasps.

It's not the first time they've done this, not even the first time Geralt has been on the receiving end. But it's one thing to be sprawled out in bed with hours of undisturbed time for Geralt to enjoy Jaskier putting his considerably skilled tongue to good use, and quite another to do so when they're expected upstairs for the celebration so soon. The few occasions where Geralt has been forced to mingle with the aristocracy were excruciating enough without him being flushed and sweating in the wake of what is bound to be an achingly good orgasm.

He doesn't tell Jaskier to stop, though.

Jaskier laps at Geralt for long, agonising minutes, breaking away only to pepper kisses against the too-sensitive skin between Geralt's balls and the base of his spine. It's an effort for Geralt to keep quiet under Jaskier's ministrations. He's squeezing and kneading at Geralt's arse, making happy noises as he continues to tease his tongue against Geralt's entrance, and the scent of his arousal is so thick in the air Geralt might choke on it.

He reaches a hand back, sliding it into Jaskier's hair and pulling him closer.

Jaskier seems to get the message quickly enough. The firm tip of his tongue flicks against Geralt, adding more and more pressure until he's finally pressing inside, and Geralt's cock throbs, aching and insistent, as he gasps at the heady feeling of Jaskier within him. He releases Jaskier's hair to palm at himself.

From the subtle trembling he can feel and the sloshing of the water behind him, Jaskier is doing the same. He's making small, desperate noises between Geralt's cheeks, and Geralt closes his eyes, shutting out everything to focus on Jaskier: his muffled sounds of pleasure, his pulse racing beneath his skin, his tongue fucking into Geralt.

" _Jask_ ," Geralt moans.

It's more than Geralt deserves, but still he's greedy for more. He pushes himself back against Jaskier's tongue until he's aching with want and Jaskier pulls out of him completely.

"Wonderful," pants Jaskier, voice wrecked, and his hands massage at Geralt's cheeks as he gulps down a ragged breath. When Geralt twists to look back at him there's a heavy flush across his skin and a dopey, satisfied grin on his face. "Just wonderful."

His finger returns to Geralt's hole, slipping easily inside this time, and Geralt's hips jerk.

"How's that?" Jaskier says.

"Good."

"Want me to keep going?"

It's a stupid question.

Jaskier dips his head, licking at Geralt's rim while he fucks his finger in and out, moaning obscenely between Geralt's cheeks. By the time he's added a second finger, Geralt's nails are raking across the stone floor, his moans falling freely. But he can't let himself surrender completely, can't let himself cross that final line, no matter how much his body feels like it's tearing itself apart in its need to do so. His eyes flick to the door, waiting for this moment between them to shatter.

"Come on, witcher," Jaskier breathes against his skin. He ducks lower to trail his tongue over Geralt's balls and suck them into his mouth, his breath gusting hot and damp against Geralt's skin. "I know you're close."

"I can't come like this."

"You can't," says Jaskier, "or you don't want to?"

" _Jaskier_." He almost sobs the word.

Jaskier stands and drapes himself against Geralt's back as he kisses him. He has a hand on Geralt's heaving stomach to hold him close, the other reaching between their bodies. He nudges the blunt, wet head of his cock against Geralt's arse. "Is this what you need?"

" _Yes_."

Geralt holds his breath as Jaskier drags his cock between Geralt's cheeks, the head of it teasing against Geralt's hole. Even with Jaskier's fingers and tongue working him open there'll be a stretch, and Geralt aches for it. He spreads his legs wider while Jaskier lines himself up, ready to push inside, and—

"Oh, fuck," says Jaskier, pulling back and leaving Geralt gasping on the edge of the bath. "The banquet."

Hours later, Geralt's cheeks still feel hot. Whether it's from the stares of the fellow guests who have been less than subtle about their curiosity or the aching pressure in his lower gut that just doesn't seem to want to leave him, it's hard to say. Both, probably.

But at least now the feast has turned to drink and dancing, which means Geralt can plaster himself against the wall and simply observe, unnoticed and unbothered. He takes a sip of his wine. Across the ballroom, Jaskier performs, and Geralt smiles as he watches him in his element.

Jaskier was right; Geralt could have actually enjoyed himself tonight, however reluctantly. There's fine wine, good music, and Jaskier's family is far more pleasant than most members of the aristocracy that Geralt has had the misfortune of encountering in his time. If not for the aching in his groin and the creeping suspicion that one look at him will reveal everything he and Jaskier were up to in the baths, he might have done.

Geralt's attention flicks from Jaskier to the pair of young women nearby, attempting to get a good look at Geralt without being noticed. They are some cousins of Jaskier's, however many times removed, Geralt is fairly certain — though he has been given hurried introductions to so many members of the Pankratz extended family tonight, as well as family friends and honoured guests, that he's having trouble keeping it all straight in his mind. Part of him is surprised Jaskier didn't unfurl a vast family tree to aid Geralt at some point during the proceedings.

The moment Geralt's eyes meet the girls' the pair ducks away, whispering to one another before shooting Geralt another furtive glance when they think he isn't looking. He bristles under the scrutiny.

"I assure you, they don't bite."

Geralt turns at the sound of the voice, refined but warm, and watches the Lady Pankratz stroll towards him. There isn't much of a resemblance between mother and son — though admittedly, Geralt's experience with these kinds of things is limited. She comes to stand beside him, her eyes flicking from Jaskier as he swans past back to Geralt. There is a good-natured smile on her face.

"I think they're afraid that I might."

"Well, give them a few more songs and I'm sure they'll be as enamoured with you as Julian is," she says. "I suspect all of Lettenhove will be alight with tales of the White Wolf by morning."

"They're all exaggerated."

"Yes, I imagined that might be the case. My son has something of a flair for the dramatic, I trust you well know."

Geralt hums. They stand together in silence for a while, watching the festivities unfurl around them. From the corner of Geralt's eye he can see the proud look on Jaskier's mother's face as she watches him sing, and he feels a fresh pang of guilt for his part in the direction Jaskier's life has taken; away from the banquets and finery of his family home, into the arms and between the thighs of a witcher.

He swallows at the reminder of Jaskier between his thighs.

"I do hope you'll join us again next year," Lady Pankratz says to him while Geralt tries desperately not to think of what he had been doing with her son mere hours earlier. The more he tries not to think of Jaskier's tongue inside him, however, the harder he finds it to think of anything else.

He takes a long gulp of his drink as he feels his skin begin to heat again.

"I'm sure Jaskier will see to it that I can't refuse even if I wished to."

Lady Pankratz looks back at him and Geralt tries not to wilt under her gaze. "If he does not," she says, humour glittering in her blue eyes, "I shall certainly do so myself."

Across the room, Jaskier plays the final notes of the bawdy jig he has been singing, and takes a moment to soak up the crowd's reaction. He is wearing the same exhilarated grin he was when he and Geralt were scrambling to dress for the feast, still hard and panting, and he had pressed a wet kiss to Geralt's lips with the promise of soon resuming what they had started.

The words haven't been far from Geralt's mind ever since.

Lady Pankratz loops her arm with Geralt's. "I must say, you are not nearly as monstrous as the stories would have people believe, Sir Geralt."

"It's just Geralt," he says stiffly. "And I hope not."

Jaskier's next song is new, a fairly accurate retelling of one of Geralt's most recent hunts. Though, of course, he doesn't mention the part where Geralt was almost separated from his head by the forktail's well timed swipe of its tail, nor that Geralt only ended up fighting the thing because he and Jaskier had inadvertently strayed too close to its nest on their way to the next town in search of an entirely different contract.

He also doesn't mention that the moment Geralt had slain the forktail, Jaskier shoved him down into the grass to demonstrate just how glad he was that Geralt remained in one piece, though Geralt's quite relieved to find that detail absent by the time the song has come to an end.

"I don't bring him," says Geralt. "On hunts." The words come out rushed, but he feels compelled to stress the fact before Jaskier's mother can change her opinion on just how monstrous Geralt really is for dragging her child into this life. He looks towards Jaskier now stood amongst a clutch of fellow guests, no doubt happily regaling them all with more stories of adventure. "He seems to find his way there anyway, though."

She looks back at Geralt. "Oh, I'm sure," she says. "I'm afraid Julian has always been uniquely skilled in finding ways to get exactly what he wants."

Geralt squirms uncomfortably. Across the room, Jaskier catches his eye and winks.


End file.
